Dear Blaze Marley-Honor,
Your birth is the greatest triumph up to this point in my life.
Granted, each of you boys is technically my best memory. Every moment of each labor and delivery is grafted into my heart forever and I am amazed by how different each memory is. This isn’t in any way about playing favorites.
It’s just the fact that your birth was done on my own terms more than any of your siblings. I found my guts and glory in your birth and in the weeks leading up to that point.
I was amazed by the communication you and I shared while you were still living in me. I told people the exact date you planned to be born. No one took me seriously. But lo and behold my water broke that morning. Which is pretty cool considering my water never broke on it’s own with any of your brothers but I had after all requested a sign of labor impending and there it was.
I walked miles and miles around our backyard in the weeks before your birth. Walked barefoot in wet grass under stars and the moon as my only light. Patient loops in the darkness with a couple cats and dogs trailing behind. Walked and walked, feeling your head against my pelvic bones, walked and walked while talking to you. About my hopes for you, about the upcoming birth process, about who I was at that time. Sometimes you communicated back, sometimes you simply listened.
Then the birth. Some worship time at church, dancing and swaying to praise songs. Then the church family laid hands on me. I felt the vibrations of love and power in their hands, felt the love in their prayers.
I waddled around the rest of the day. Cleaned out the pool with a burst of energy that felt euphoric and awesome. Scrubbed it down. At some point I pulled off my panties because my water was leaking pretty regularly now and the pads couldn’t keep up. So, I remained out in the yard in just my sundress, the amniotic fluid leaking down my legs as I cleaned the pool, then simply wandered around awhile, soaking in the setting sun and watching the birds and mountains.
When contractions got stronger I hung out in the shower, the hot water pelting my hard belly as it contracted. Held onto the wall for support when my legs buckled. Moaned through the bigger ones. By the time the boys got to sleep I was on my knees, head on the recliner in my room. I guzzled Gatorade by the gallon. The room around me grew soft and hazy, out-of-focus, otherworldly. As if it was only just a dream. The tv was on and the volume was down low. The single light on above my head was dim. The windows were wide open all around the room. I squatted over towels on the floor, clung to the recliner like a raft out at sea. My voice got louder with each contraction, more animalistic, a primal groan-howl type of sound. Vocalizing the intensity helped me to flow with it.
My only regret is that I allowed other people to convince me the home birth idea was a bad one. I wanted it SO badly, believed in it….but when you are in the middle of a storm it’s really hard to stand on your own two feet and stand for what you believe in when others come against you to argue. Right at transition, when the blood began to drip lightly from me, I relented, gave in. Let an ambulance come and transfer me. I regret THAT one choice heavily now.
Because it was pretty damn useless. I pushed you out in under ten minutes after arriving at the hospital. No meds, no time for anything but to yank off that dress (now stained with fluid and blood and sweat) and roarroarROARRRRR out a hollor of release and pain and triumph as you came forth-out-through my body.
I have never felt more powerful, more zen all at once. I could have lifted houses, run marathons, flown above the mountains. I cried. Laughed. Kissed your face. Tasted me on your skin. Watched in awe as you suckled at my breast as if you were an old pro. Fell promptly in love.
Your name has great significance to me. Blaze is your first name because I hope you always have that fire and passion for living and experiencing life. Every day. Marley after Bob Marley, and all that he sand about and believed in as far as peace and love. Honor, because more than any other trait, I pray you grow to be a man of honor.
When you were 24 hours old I held you close to me and nursed you while I watched the documentary of Bob Marleys life on television. Coincidence that THAT was on tv right after you came into this world? I don’t believe so. I think it was the universe’s way of acknowledging your existence and reminding me what I had talked to you about on all those late-night circles around our backyard.
I love you, son. So much.
Thank you for sharing that day with me. For giving me my best memory. 🙂 ❤